Havelock, for his part, has been undergoing - more or less - vampire boot camp.
It was long, and stressful, with no montage shortcuts, and the time dragged all the more because he knew the door was there all the time. But to have Lady Margolotta follow him here would be... Not disastrous, if he's honest. But unpleasant, and the thought makes him itch uneasily, and so he had stayed away as best be could while he fought for control.
And now, he thinks perhaps it might be all right to try the bar again.
When he steps through the door, the assault on the senses has not gone. It was always him that had the problem, as he had told Puck those months ago, and now he feels steady still, even as the life and magic in the place wraps around him again, vibrant after the chill quiet of the castle.
Puck, at this point, has given up looking to the door every time he hears it open.
In fact, he may be rather pointedly not looking to it now. In the bustle and chaos of the bar, he can discern a magic when it is before him, or when he seeks it out, but it is altogether too crowded here for any one to leap out at him.
Nevertheless, Havelock drifts through the bar in slow silence, keeping himself hard to notice. It's habit, but more to the point, he doesn't want to talk to just anyone yet - he has to find Puck first.
(Has to, or just wants to - either will do.)
There, on the couch. He approaches quietly from behind.
Havelock isn't sure whether to be pleased that his stealth is apparently that good, or disapproving that Puck isn't paying attention. Milliways still isn't safe, even for the fae.
Sometimes especially.
He really shouldn't be so tempted to smile.
The vampire reaches out a pale hand and touches it lightly to Puck's shoulder.
Puck straightens with a jerk at the touch and whirls around, letting out a snarl before he can even register just whose pale hand it is, and whose pale face is looking down at him.
The anger and surprise drain very slowly from his face, leaving a dumb, wondering look in their place.
"I know," Puck murmurs evenly, "that I cannot be dreaming you, my love. For no vision my imagination could devise should ever manage to paint you in quite so insufferable a light as you now appear."
Puck is quite pleased that Havelock's insufferableness does not extend to pointing out that he has touched him-- or at least been touched-- already.
What strikes him about Havelock is a quality of ease or relaxation that he has not seen in him in some while. Puck finds himself leaning forward slightly, like a tendril of green seeking the sun, because it seems, surprisingly, that he can.
Havelock sits quite still, but loose and calm, eyes perfectly focused on Puck instead of tensely and constantly monitoring the people surrounding them. It's a relief, to be honest - there was nowhere to test himself on this scale in Uberwald, but it's holding quite acceptably, and he no longer fears that he will snap and lunge for Puck's soft throat.
It's all a matter of control, and he has learned it well, these past few months.
How long has it been since he's seen his eyes? As Puck looks up at him he thinks too, too long; as his fingers close lightly over Havelock's shoulder; as he slides his arms around his neck and leans in against his chest--
It was long, and stressful, with no montage shortcuts, and the time dragged all the more because he knew the door was there all the time. But to have Lady Margolotta follow him here would be... Not disastrous, if he's honest. But unpleasant, and the thought makes him itch uneasily, and so he had stayed away as best be could while he fought for control.
And now, he thinks perhaps it might be all right to try the bar again.
When he steps through the door, the assault on the senses has not gone. It was always him that had the problem, as he had told Puck those months ago, and now he feels steady still, even as the life and magic in the place wraps around him again, vibrant after the chill quiet of the castle.
He looks around, still and purposeful.
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In fact, he may be rather pointedly not looking to it now. In the bustle and chaos of the bar, he can discern a magic when it is before him, or when he seeks it out, but it is altogether too crowded here for any one to leap out at him.
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...Yes. Probably.
Nevertheless, Havelock drifts through the bar in slow silence, keeping himself hard to notice. It's habit, but more to the point, he doesn't want to talk to just anyone yet - he has to find Puck first.
(Has to, or just wants to - either will do.)
There, on the couch. He approaches quietly from behind.
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It's a pity, really, for someone of his natural capacities.
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Havelock isn't sure whether to be pleased that his stealth is apparently that good, or disapproving that Puck isn't paying attention. Milliways still isn't safe, even for the fae.
Sometimes especially.
He really shouldn't be so tempted to smile.
The vampire reaches out a pale hand and touches it lightly to Puck's shoulder.
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The anger and surprise drain very slowly from his face, leaving a dumb, wondering look in their place.
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That's something.
"I have been approaching you for several minutes," Havelock informs him, mildly stern. "My intentions could have been less than benign."
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"I--"
A beat. Then he snorts.
"Should they have been?"
The question begins as a jest, before he realizes that-- after all-- he hasn't any notion whether there may be some truth in it.
But if there were, why should Havelock bother to lecture him about it and thus give him warning? No, Havelock is just being a jerk.
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Hard-won as it is.
...But yes. He's being a jerk.
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Oh, oh.
Be still, his beating heart.
"I know," Puck murmurs evenly, "that I cannot be dreaming you, my love. For no vision my imagination could devise should ever manage to paint you in quite so insufferable a light as you now appear."
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"I shall be reassured if I may touch you, and see you are not smoke and shadow."
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"Of course," he says softly.
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What strikes him about Havelock is a quality of ease or relaxation that he has not seen in him in some while. Puck finds himself leaning forward slightly, like a tendril of green seeking the sun, because it seems, surprisingly, that he can.
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(Maybe, another day, it would have. But...)
Havelock sits quite still, but loose and calm, eyes perfectly focused on Puck instead of tensely and constantly monitoring the people surrounding them. It's a relief, to be honest - there was nowhere to test himself on this scale in Uberwald, but it's holding quite acceptably, and he no longer fears that he will snap and lunge for Puck's soft throat.
It's all a matter of control, and he has learned it well, these past few months.
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Altogether too long.
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